


Good Boy

by cellard00rs



Series: CSAC series [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Porn, Smut, Spitroasting, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, mentions of porn and snuff films
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place sometime after Chapter 12 of ‘Coffee Stains and Cigarettes’. It’s an interesting night for Preston to say the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Boy

Preston Northwest walks into the house to hear the sounds of over the top sex. Some woman sounds like she’s either one, having a really great time or two, being horrifically murdered. Either way, the noise is unappealing and high pitched. He scowls, is one of his frat brothers having sex with someone out in the open? How can he not at least show the girl some respect and take her to his room? Regardless, it’s a violation of the house charter and Preston loves flexing his muscles, showing how he’s a top member of the house.

He stalks towards the sound, even as he winces internally. The last thing he wants to see is two people in the throes of passion but it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make. Especially if it means verbally tearing someone asunder. The noise leads him to the living room where he finds a whole group of his brothers watching the television.

The sounds emanate from this device and on the screen…

Preston freezes up, turmoil rolling over him in waves. The woman on the screen is…lord, she’s being violated. That’s the only word that comes to mind. All these men surrounding her and doing… _things_! He lets out a sharp hiss, covering his eyes. Lord, he’ll _never_ get that imagery out of his head! This blonde woman all slicked up with lube while these men take her and she’s _moaning_ and there were _close ups_ of-of-!

“Hey Preston!” one of the guy’s pipe up, “How’re you doing, bro! You wanna take a seat and watch this with us?”

“Heavens, _no_!” Preston glowers, eyes still covered, “What on _earth_ are you savages watching?!”

The same voice speaks again and Preston recognizes it as Blake’s, “Oh man, it’s only like – one of _the_ best pornos! Chad brought it. Got a couple here, actually – we got Dynamic Booty 5, Meow! 3, Eye Fucked Them All, Anikka’s Anal Sluts…”

“Good lord – _stop_!” Preston didn’t think he was possible of begging, but apparently he is, “I do _not_ need to know the titles of these – these abominations!”

He hears a huff, “Dude, you don’t like porn? What’s wrong with you? What – you secretly religious or sumpin’?”

Preston’s tempted to correct the voice on how to properly pronounce ‘something’ but instead he mutters, “That’s not the issue! The issue is one of graphic sexual content being peddled within a high trafficked area of the house by several members! I believe I counted seven of you before I chose to shield myself from the – the horrors on display.”

“Dude, ‘s not _horror_ – it’s just sex. You’ve _had_ sex, right?”

“Of course,” Preston snaps, happy with how legitimate he sounds, “But not like – like this awful mockery of the act! That poor girl looks and sounds like she’s in agony.”

“Oh, so you’re a ‘making love’ type of brother, huh? All slow, boring missionary shit.”

Preston finally removes his hands to glare at the person who was talking this time. With his eyes uncovered he can see he was correct – there are seven boys present. Blake, Chad, Trent, Kyle, Zack, Tripp and Bryce. He’s pretty sure the last voice he heard was Tripp’s, so he turns to him, “I am not opposed to different sexual positions. I am, however, opposed to breaking the rules! This-this snuff film could easily be viewed in a locked room – away from prying eyes!”

“Brah, this is _not_ a snuff film! Snuff is different from porn! Don’t you know the dif-?”

“I don’t care,” Preston stresses, “I also do not care why you all feel the need to watch this monstrosity together. Isn’t the watching of pornographic material a solo activity?”

“Pres, buddy, relax! Take a chill pill,” Blake offers good naturedly, “Nothin’ wrong with a bunch of frat buddies watching a chick takin’ it up the…well; she’s got a lotta holes filled right now.”

Blake earns a powerful glare from this and he holds up his hands in surrender, “But, you _are_ right. The rules do say we shouldn’t have this stuff out here. We only chose this spot ‘cause there’s so many of us. But, y’know, if Tad was here, he’d agree with you.”

Preston rolls his eyes. Of course. Tad Strange. If _Tad_ had been here, if _Tad_ had pointed out this very same thing to them, none of them would have argued. Tad is much beloved this way. Even the mention of his name has the others looking guilty. Wonderful. Preston pinches the bridge of his nose, “Whatever. I have studying to do. I’ll leave you all to your…jollies.”

He walks away and can hear them talking behind his back – nasty little remarks at his expense. Things like questioning how much of a man he can be if he doesn’t enjoy this, if he doesn’t want to join them. He waits, heart in his throat, wondering if they’ll question his…preferences, but he hears nothing. He relaxes a little. They’ve seen him bring many girls into the house. Just last week he had Cynthia Drysdale on his arm. Surely they think he’s…no, they _know_ he’s…

He takes the stairs up to his room two at a time. Yes, they know he’s straight. Of course they do! There’s no question of his heterosexuality! They don’t doubt that he’s attracted to girls, _only_ girls. That he would never, ever…

Preston shakes his head as he goes into his room. He has a room all to himself and it’s one of the largest ones in the house. It has a large bed and a fantastic view of the pool. His closet is a walk in and he has ornately carved furniture. He tosses his messenger bag down near his desk and computer. He draws out his Entrepreneurial Management textbook and starts going over his highlighted notes. He has a report due in three days and he’s only about half way through it.

He boots up his work and starts typing, but his mind keeps drifting. He looks outside and sees a couple of people frolicking in the pool and just past that he notices the climbing rose bushes curling up along the stone fence surrounding the area. Hmm. They could do with some pruning. And red. He scowls, of all the pedantic choices! Roses are bad enough, but red?

Why not something more unique? Pale peach or coral? Perhaps yellow? Those would have certainly looked nice in…

He immediately stops typing, his mind flashing to the bouquet of flowers he purchased. He lets out a weary sigh and leans back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling. Fuck. He bought a bouquet of flowers. For  _Fordsy_! _Stanford Pines_ of _all_ people! He’d sent them to his (no doubt) shabby apartment and why? Why, oh why had he done that? Preston rubs at his face and feels completely foolish.

He shouldn’t have sent the flowers. He really, really shouldn’t have. But when he’d seen Ford in Stan’s arms…so pale, so bruised…

Preston breathes in deeply, the image lodged in his mind. He’d known Cipher was trouble, but he’d never imagined…

And the little miscreant is nowhere to be found. Preston planned on ejecting him from the house but it's as if the little demon did it himself. Preston hasn’t seen him since the party. He also hasn’t seen Ford since. He does, however, know that he’s okay. Mainly because he covertly sent someone to check. Actually, he covertly sent that someone to follow Stanley immediately after he left. There's a maintenance man, Fitzroy, whose sole job was to upkeep the frat house. At least it _had_ been his sole job until Preston arrived.

With his father’s leash slowly loosening, Preston garnered the man into his employ. Mainly he just has Fitzroy do little tasks – his laundry, his shopping – things of that nature that he simply does not have the time for. But that evening Fitzroy truly earned his pay, assigned to watch over the twins, to make sure that everything was fine.

Preston even toyed with the idea of providing funds in order to cover any hospital expenses, but eventually decided against it. He doesn’t want the Pines to think he’s trying to cover this up, to pay them off. Not to mention that the last thing he wants is for either of them to know that he’s…concerned about them. Especially Stanford. Why, just that very evening he’d told Fordsy he would never like him. How would it look if Ford knew Preston sent Fitzroy to keep any eye on him?

Bad enough that after Fitzroy reported that both were fine and that they were going home Preston immediately went out and purchased the flowers. Purchased them and had Fitzroy deliver them. True, Preston hadn’t attached a card, but it’s still possible that the two will find out where they came from. And if they do, if they confront him…what will he do then?

Preston sits up and stares blankly at the screen, his thoughts floating towards Ford. Stupid, six fingered scoundrel! With his – his dumb, fluffy hair hidden under those ridiculous hats and his stupid face with that little cleft in his chin and those eyes…those eyes…

Eyes like his uncouth brother and oh, Stanley Pines! As if Ford isn't bad enough, there’s a cheap, carbon copy of him running around with wild hair and big shoulders and Preston caught sight of hair on his shoulders once and it’s absolutely disgusting, that hair. It’s probably coarse and unpleasant to the touch. There’s no way it can be soft…silky…and his voice, that rumbling sound like thunder that makes one’s blood race and…

Preston grumbles, shaking his head violently from side to side. What in god’s name is wrong with him? His thoughts are all…discombobulated. Not to mention there’s this awful heat just beneath his skin. He tugs at his collar and recalls the sounds of that woman’s moans. So awful. How can anyone like that? Like to be…to be caught between more than one person? To be…to be used like that? It’s all so vulgar. Vulgar and alarming.

He would _never_ want that. To be used in that manner. To be with more than one person at a time. The idea of being caught up between two women is…

…and two _men_ , well, he would never…not ever, never ever…

Preston gets up and starts pacing, running a hand through his immaculate hair, no doubt ruining the styling work he put into it this morning. No, he would never want to be taken in that fashion. So roughly, so inelegantly. He supposes…well, he supposes if it was done differently than he’d seen…

The woman in the video looked so overwhelmed, so hurt – but if the people in question went about it just right, if they…

Annoyed with his thoughts, Preston flops down on his bed. He’s still fully dressed from his school day – white sweater knotted about his shoulders, blue polo shirt, smart khakis and shiny black dress shoes. He kicks off the shoes and edges himself up the bed until his head rests on his pillow. His bed  - like all the other pieces in the room – is well crafted and expensive. It’s a four poster piece, a white canopy overhead that’s been knitted with glow in the dark stars.

The sun outside is setting, turning all of it a soft orange and he sighs, his eyelids heavy. Maybe he’ll just rest them a moment. Just a moment…

 

+

 

The knock on his door is brisk and concise.

Preston jolts upright and rubs at his eyes. Oh dear – he must have fallen asleep. He gets to his feet, feeling groggy and opens the door only to feel as if his eyes are going to burst from his skull. Ford Pines and Stanley Pines both stand there, looking as if they absolutely belong there. Ford’s hands are in the pockets of his hoodie and he offers Preston a bright smile, “Hey, Preston – mind if we come in?”

“I-I-? What?” this is all said on a breath, because Preston’s just woken up and he has no idea how to react to this sudden turn of events. Ford just pats his shoulder and moves past him, “Cool! Thanks!”

Stan follows right after, just giving a grunt for a greeting and Preston stands there, stunned. He blinks a few times before he shuts the door behind them and whirls around, wide eyed, “Wha-? What?”

“Nice room,“ Ford says cheerfully as he looks around and Stan sniffs, “Seen better.”

“I highly doubt that!” Preston cries because it’s the first coherent thing to come to him, no matter how stupid.

Stan snorts, “You don’t know me.”

“No, I do not and I certainly do not know why you two rogues have come here!” Preston returns hotly, “I demand you leave!”

“Funny you should demand that when you were the one who shut the door behind us,” Ford supplies and Preston feels his cheek heat, “It was a compulsive action! One I deeply regret! Now, will you please-!”

His words dry up as Ford walks closer to him, gets right up in his face, “Do you _really_ want us to go?”

“I…” Preston licks his lips and swallows so thickly he feels his Adam’s apple bob. Ford is in front of him and Stanley…Stanley is behind him. They’re caging him in. Preston feels a nervous tick form under one eye, “Y-Yes. Naturally.”

Ford reaches up one hand and his fingers – all six of them, start running through the bunched material of the sweater knotted about his shoulders as he asks in a smoky whisper, “You sure?”

“I…uhhh…what’re y-you-?” Preston feels completely foolish at his inability to speak but, well, Ford is…touching him. Touching him so openly, so brazenly, and Preston knows he should slap his hands away. He knows he should order him to stop but there’s…there’s heat behind his back. A wall of it, warm and captivating, and he knows it’s Stanley. He can hear the brute breathing behind him and his breathing…it’s heavy. He…he sounds like a monster that’s going to _devour_ him.

He’s going to be devoured and Preston doesn’t feel fear or distaste he feels… _excitement_. He feels it and hates it and he tries again to find his voice but it comes out in a squeak as Ford’s hands carefully unknot the sweater, slowly tugging it away and lowering it to the floor. Yet again, the first dumb thing that comes to Preston’s mind falls out of his mouth, “Hey! What’re you doing?! That’s cashmere!”

“Is it?”

“Yes! And you’ve – you’ve just dropped it on the floor!” He sounds scandalized at the very idea and Ford chuckles, “It’s just on the carpet. The nice, plush carpet that’s now much more nice and plush thanks to the cashmere.”

Then Ford drops down and he’s-! Oh…oh, _no_. Oh no, no, no. He’s-he’s on his knees near Preston’s…um, ah…

Preston closes his eyes, ignores how Ford is kneeling down, eye (and what’s worse – _mouth_ ) level with his crotch. There’s a terrible stirring behind the fly of his khaki’s and he despises himself for it. Ford talks again and Preston is damn near grateful for it. Grateful for the distraction that the talking provides, “Just spreading this out here. The carpet is nice, but this will make a better, softer surface for your knees.”

“For-for my-?” Preston opens his eyes and Ford has risen up again. He stands in front of him and cups Preston’s face, “Shhh…it’s alright. Just relax, sweetheart.”

 _Sweetheart_? Preston is ready to violently object to that label when Ford draws him close and kisses him. Preston freezes. His mind short circuiting, because _Stanford Pines_ is-! They’re-! Ford’s lips move gently against Preston’s – they’re coaxing and lush, that bottom lip so inappropriately full that Preston can’t ignore it, can’t deny the feeling of it, and a choked gasp escapes him.

The gasp opens his mouth and allows Ford’s tongue entrance. It slides inside – a smooth, slick predator that’s intent in its task. It outlines Preston’s teeth, his gums and then surges deeper, plays over Preston’s own inert tongue and Preston…he can’t help it. He just…he _can’t_. 

He groans and lets his tongue move, lets it entwine with the other in his mouth and Ford releases a triumphant hum. The kiss is hot and surreal. Preston feels like he’s floating, like he’s lost, and then he gasps again.

Gasps because large, rough hands have moved up under his shirt. And the hands…they’re coming from behind him. They’re _Stanley Pines’_ hands. Stan’s hands brush up over Preston’s abs, his chest, and the pads of his thumbs brush along Preston’s nipples and he can’t help but mewl. 

His nipples instantly rise to the touch, becoming sharp, pointed peaks. Peaks that seem to only grow more rigid as Stan just…he keeps _teasing_. It’s like torture – those thumbs just casually lighting over the very tips. It’s like a match being struck – lustful fire rampaging in Preston’s veins.

And Ford is _still_ kissing him. Preston’s under a barrage of sensual attacks and he can’t cope. He’s come to the conclusion that he’s lost his mind as his own hands rise up to knock off Ford’s stupid beanie, fingers impatiently combing through thick brown curls, clutching at them, and he gets a noise of approval for his efforts. Ford carefully peels his mouth away, breath hot against Preston’s lips as he speaks, “Stanley?”

“Yeah, Sixer?”

“Clothes?”

Preston’s not sure what Ford means until both twins are working in unison, edging Preston’s polo shirt over his head, tossing it away and then – then they’re going for his belt, his pants. They tug and pull and Preston doesn’t know what to do with what’s happening. The brothers are…undressing him. Working together to strip everything away and soon enough he’s completely nude between the two of them. They’re both still fully clothed and here he is – totally naked.

He looks down and can see his whole body blush. His cock is almost embarrassingly erect from what’s happened so far. It’s only been a few kisses and some touches and he’s…he’s full to aching. It’s just…Preston doesn’t get touched often. Physical contact is something he has little to no experience with, so even just the tiniest amounts can get him worked up.

As if reading his mind, Ford murmurs, “Look at that, Stan. He’s so wonderfully responsive.”

“Hmm, looks good too. Nice to see his mouth _can_ cash the checks it’s writing.”

Preston is lost for a moment but catches Stan’s eyes on his cock as he inhales, “Cash the-?! I’ve-I’ve never bragged about the size of my-!”

“Things you say – trust me – you talk some ballsy shit. So, great to see you _have_ the balls to back it up. Not to mention the dick. Pretty fine one too – lot more inches than I thought.”

“Wh-why I-! I never-!” Preston is appalled but Ford just laughs at Stan’s words, “I like how full it is. Very thick.”

For some reason the compliments make Preston feel torn between wildly uncomfortable and unbearably flattered. He waits with baited breath to see if either of them will actually touch this part of his anatomy. Instead Ford kisses him again; the contact so wet that when he draws back the tiniest string of saliva passes between them. Ford exhales, “Speaking of his mouth…it’s quite delicious.”

“Let me try,” Stan growls and suddenly Preston is manhandled, his whole body forcefully turned away from Ford as he’s gathered into Stan’s strong embrace. His mouth is captured again but this time by this – this brute! Preston lets out a distressed sound, unprepared for this erotic attack. Ford’s kiss is leagues different from his brother’s.

Ford kisses with a gentle refinement, a methodical approach that’s very tactical in nature. Stanley’s kiss is…mind blowing. Thrilling. His tongue surges deep and it’s almost as if he’s a man dying of thirst and Preston is the first cool sip of water he’s had in _ages_. Preston’s knees actually tremble, the act so…so  _fierce_. But not painful. No, in a way it’s almost…gratifying. To be wanted so much, to be so desperately desired. Preston never thought he’d find this ruffian alluring but…

And now Ford is the one behind him, his hands carefully tracing up and down Preston’s exposed spine, brushing over the round, firm cheeks of his ass and he shivers, arching back into it as Ford’s mouth latches onto the back of his neck, sucking, biting. Another mewl escapes Preston in between his kisses with Stanley and he realizes he’s being taken apart. Ford is doing so with pointed precision while Stan’s approach is unbridled enthusiasm. Both leave Preston breathless and wild eyed.

He feels like he’s caught up in two merging storm fronts, both powerful in their own right and when he finally manages to speak, he pants, “Can’t…”

Both of them slow their movements and Ford nuzzles his cheek, tone a thick, husky syrup, “What can’t you do, sweetheart?”

“St-stand,” Preston moans, his knees shaking again and he can feel Ford smiling against him, “Of course. Let’s get you settled. Stanley?”

Stan turns Preston back towards Ford and together the two lower Preston to the carpet. Preston finds his knees cushioned by the cashmere sweater that Ford spread out earlier. It rests beneath him as he gets on his hands and knees to see that it’s now he who is eye level (and mouth level) with the space between Ford’s legs. 

Ford’s legs are clad in his normal skinny jeans and Preston can tell he’s turned on, a noticeable bulge present. He feels hesitant at the sight, but then Ford lowers himself as well. He hears Stan do the same and while he’s still between the two they’re now lower to the ground.

However, Preston is still the only one sans clothing and it’s all very unsettling and dreamlike. His heart is beating hard and Ford must see his expression, must take pity on him, because he strokes his cheek with the back of one hand before kissing him, “Now, now…don’t worry. I promise we’re going to take good care of you. Aren’t we, Stanley?”

“Oh yeah,” Stan swears and Preston feels that large hand on him again, feels it ghost the same path down his spine that Ford just touched, “We’re gonna take good care of you, baby. Promise.”

Baby, sweetheart…Preston’s as unused to the terms of endearment as he is to the physical contact and he feels his eyes stupidly prick up with unshed tears. It’s just so…nice. Ford runs his hand along Preston’s face again, “But we need you to be a good boy for us. Can you do that?”

Good boy? Preston’s immediate reaction is to point out that he’s not a dog, that he’s a _Northwest_ , but for some reason the…title, tugs at something buried within him. He…he _wants_ to be a good boy. He  _wants_ their approval. It’s absurd. Preston Northwest being referred to as a ‘good boy’. Preston Northwest looking to the Pines twins as if they’re his…his masters or something! And while he knows he should object, Ford kisses him again and makes him lose focus.

Each of the kisses he’s received has been this way. They’re like drugs. They make him lose more and more of himself each time and when Ford pulls away he murmurs, “There’s only one rule, Preston. Okay? You can’t touch yourself. Do you understand me?”

Preston blinks, confused by this request. He looks down to see that his erection is quite rigid. It’s curled up tight towards his bellybutton, even in his current position. He licks his lips and nods only to hear a soft, “Say it, Preston.”

“I…yes, I understand. I will not touch myself.”

“Very good. Isn’t he a good boy, Stan?”

“Very good boy,” Stan’s voice is so guttural that Preston shudders at it. Ford’s voice is also deep. Two deep voiced boys who have him down in this position. It’s disgraceful. Preston hates how much he adores it. He hears a sound behind him, like a cap clicking open and closed and then he feels something cool and slick at his backside. He jolts and Ford shushes him, “It’s alright. Stan’s just prepping you.”

“Prepping?” Preston repeats and he wishes he would stop sounding so airheaded at every little thing. But, well, this is all rather shocking. He honestly has no idea how he’s ended up in this position. It all just fell into place so easily. There’s been no discussion as to why this happening or what they’re doing here. Preston’s hardly even objected to this situation. Instead he’s just let himself be led along.

“Yes, we have to open you up,” Ford purrs and his eyes glint with heated intensity, “Have you ever done this before, Preston?”

“No,” Preston admits, “I’ve never done this. Not with anyone.”

 _Much less with two people at once_ , he almost adds but Ford looks so pleased by this revelation that he can only offer a wavering half smile. Ford gives him a quick kiss, then, “How about exploring yourself solo. Have you done that?”

“Have I-?”

“Have you touched yourself before,” he asks, words a silky caress, “Have you fingered yourself?”

Flames streak along Preston’s cheeks as he looks away and whispers, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

Preston merely nods, remembering the few rare – rare, rare, ultra-rare – occasions in which he’s allowed himself to do more than just stroke himself to completion. Preston doesn’t masturbate often. He just…he can’t. It’s been drilled into him how undignified it all is. 

But sometimes he can’t help himself. The need to be touched is too strong, it wells up inside him and the only way it can be abated is through action. Normally he focuses solely on his cock but at some point curiosity took hold to explore…other areas.

He’ll never forget the first time he inserted a finger into himself. It hurt and was terribly uncomfortable. Preston didn’t understand the appeal at all. It felt as if he had a terrible need to use the restroom – why would anyone wish for something to be inserted up there? 

Much less something that would repeatedly thrust deeper and deeper? But even after the less than stellar first time, he’d still been…intrigued. So he’d tried again. And again. Until one night he brushed something inside himself that made him nearly swallow his own tongue. The feeling had been…indescribable.

Still, it isn’t something he engages in often. But now, here in this moment, he finds himself eager for it. Mainly because he wonders how it will feel if the action is performed by another. He feels his whole body tense as one of Stan’s well lubed fingers circle his puckered entrance. 

Anxiety throttles him and he’s not sure he’ll be able to relax enough when suddenly Ford’s hands are all over him. They riffle through his hair, pet along his shoulders and his chest and then he dips his head forward, capturing his lips in yet another round of drugging kisses.

Slowly he feels himself uncoil and then something…slides in. He recognizes it as one of Stan’s fingers and his whole body quivers. It’s so…bizarre. But he wants more. He _needs_ more and he lets out a loud exhale in relief as another finger joins in. They move in gentle scissoring motions and they go…deeper. Stan curses, “ _Jesus_ , if only you could feel this, Sixer. He’s so goddamn _tight_.”

“Yeah?” Ford pants and Preston doesn’t have to see Stan to know he’s nodding, “Yup. He’s tight as  _fuck_. Damn near burning me with how hot he is too. Better kiss him again. Makes this easier.”

“I got a better idea,” Ford returns and he rises up a little higher on his knees so that Preston is once more looking at the fly of his jeans. Ford lowers it and moves clothing around until his own cock emerges. It’s large and cherry red and Preston feels his mouth water. The tip is beaded with clear droplets of precome and Ford runs those damnably attractive fingers all along it, giving himself a few good pumps.

“ _Ohhhh_ ,” Preston whines out, torn because there’s this awfully striking looking piece of flesh before him as well as two fingers that are piercing him with rhythmic accuracy. Preston feels as if his whole body is being played, like he’s Stan’s precious guitar and it’s as disconcerting as it is wonderful. Ford cups Preston under his chin, lifts his face up, “Ready for some distraction, boy?”

Another whine of assent leaves him and Ford laughs darkly, “Good. Just open that pretty mouth of yours. I’ll be gentle.”

Preston does as asked and Ford carefully slides his length between his lips. The words ‘cocksucker’ floats in Preston’s head, sharp and with the nasty edges of the past. He was called that label once before, even though he’s never done the act. But now? 

Now he’s doing it and it’s…fantastic. Ford feels so good in his mouth. Preston’s tongue just…it can’t help but lick at all the velvety skin. His jaw twinges slightly, but not enough for him to stop and he looks up to see that Ford’s eyes are closed.

Sweat beads the other boy’s brow, eyes closed behind thick glasses that are partially fogged and the sight make Preston’s pulse throb. In fact, he feels as if he’s throbbing all over, a heavy beat in his blood. Ford runs the back of one hand along Preston’s cheek, opening his eyes to look at him with glittering dark pools of praise, “Fuck…you’re doing _so_ well, sweetheart. You just need to suck.”

Preston does and Ford’s head falls back, a loud groan ringing through the air. Preston feels himself soaring with victory and he repeats the deed again and again. The backs of Ford’s fingers keep stroking his face, up and down, as he moans, “So, so good…doing _so_ good for me. My good, sweet boy. Now just…bob your head and _ahhhhh_! Yeah, _yes_. That’s, that’s… _ohhh_.”

The sounds leaving Ford fill Preston with confidence. As well as distraction. So much so that he lets out a muffled cry as Stan’s fingers leave him only to be replaced with…replaced with-! Ford’s cock falls from Preston’s mouth as he feels Stan enter him from behind. Cacophonies of noises leave him as Stan starts fucking him. Oh _lord_. He’s being _fucked_. By _Stanley Pines_. Stan is _inside_ him. Preston whimpers, head falling to rest between his arms and he catches sight of his own cock.

It looks damn near stained. His balls are drawn up tight and his cock is hard as a rock. He’s openly leaking, delicate ropes of precome falling down to land on his cashmere sweater and oh god, it’s  _ruined_. Or, if not ruined, it will certainly be an embarrassing thing to launder but then there’s another thrust and Preston could care less.

He wants to touch himself. He _needs_ to touch himself. He’s close. So goddamn close and he watches his cock jiggle with each movement. It bounces, jostled by Stan’s movements, and he knows it would just take one touch from someone’s – anyone’s – hand and that would be it. That would be the end. He feels himself bow down, hips jutting backwards to slap against Stan’s thighs and – _oh_! Oh, oh, _oh_! Stan’s flush against him.

Stan’s all the way in him. Buried, and Preston lets out abortive words. He hears them and feels a wash of humiliation at how frantic he sounds. Things like _please_ and _yes_ and then even less decipherable gems – things like _unf_ and _umf_. Stan is sucking in loud breaths as he works, his hands wrapped fully around Preston’s hips as he snaps himself forward again and again, taking Preston without mercy despite his promises to the contrary.

“Ford! Ford, you should see this. He’s taking me so fuckin’ good. So damned hungry. Lovely ass of his just milkin’ me,” Stan huffs and Ford’s voice is raspy, “Yeah? You like him?”

“Brother…you got no idea.”

“You like me?”

“Fucking _love_ you.”

“Yeah?” Ford gasps and even though Preston’s face is pressed against the carpet and his bunched up sweater, eyes closed, he knows they’re kissing. The brothers…the twins…they’re kissing each other. Preston’s always theorized that they’re a couple, but now he knows for certain. He also knows that if he doesn’t cum soon, he’s going to _die_.

The damned Pines twins are using him like some kind of sex toy between them and he’s just…allowing it. Hell, he’s _loving_ it. Part of him hates himself for that. A much bigger part of him lets out a wail as Stan’s thrusts grow more shallow, more primal. He’s riding Preston, ramming into him without mercy and he’s hitting that bit inside Preston that makes him light up. What’s it called again? The prostate?

Preston’s almost positive Stan’s hitting that, because he keeps feeling these bolts of jagged pleasure at the contact. His whole body is slippery, the moist sound of skin slapping together terribly present as Preston’s fingers claw at the carpet beneath him. Gradually he becomes aware of the fact that Ford is asking him a question.

“Wh- _ahhn_! What?”

“Are you enjoying yourself, Preston?”

“ _YES_! God, fuck! Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Preston babbles and he can hear Ford’s amusement, “Did you just say ‘fuck’? I didn’t know Northwests could curse…”

Preston doesn’t answer with words, just sharp noises of elation because Stan is taking him – _using_ him – and it’s _so good_. It’s so good that it’s hard to think, much less answer. But Ford seems undeterred by his inability to respond, “So you like this? Like being used?”

Preston lets out a strained ‘ _mmhmm_ ’ and his nod is exaggerated as he rubs his face against the floor. He probably has rug burn by this point, but he doesn’t care. He needs _more_. He need _faster_ , _harder_ \- he needs it _all_. How has he not cum yet? It seems almost physically impossible at this point. He’s wound so tightly it’s maddening. He smells sex and sweat and mixed colognes, soaps, shampoos… _everything_ and he’s not quiet at all. His voice echoes back to him off the walls and Stan’s grip is almost bruising now.

Ford carefully, softly, lifts Preston’s head up again, “There, there – c’mon. You’re not done yet. Open up.”

Preston doesn’t need to be asked twice. He practically dives onto Ford’s cock, sucking it deep into the cavern of his mouth as Ford hisses, “ _Ahhh_! Ah, that’s – that’s right! That’s right. Good boy, go on…swallow me.”

Preston doesn’t know what that means but then Ford is stroking tender fingers along his throat and Preston feels himself relax, feels himself open and Ford’s length dives deeper. Ford groans, “ _Holy Chri-ah_! _Ohhh_ …oh, Stan! _Stanley_! You should…you should _see_ this. He’s drinking me in. Swallowing me so well. He’s taking both of us like a fuckin’ pro, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he’s,” Stan is so winded the words can barely escape, “He’s a champ. Tight at both ends. Sweet at both. _Fuuuuuck_ , Sixer, I’m gonna-!”

“Yes! _Yes_! _Oh_!” Ford agrees and Preston lets out a muffled sound of surprise as his mouth is filled to the brim with Ford’s salty release. He chokes on it, feels some of it spill out and it hits his face. It dribbles down in rivulets and Ford’s hand is on his own cock, squeezing and stroking the rest out, coating Preston all over. And then Stan roars and Preston feels wet heat rush into him. It’s slick and filthy and _perfect_.

Stan’s movements slow and he carefully withdraws himself from Preston. Ford does the same and he drops a kiss onto Preston’s head before he whispers in his ear, “Now, Preston. Touch yourself _now_.”

Preston nearly bursts into tears of joy. He’s practically sobbing as he takes himself in hand. It only takes two strokes before his orgasm hits. It drowns him in a sea of ecstasy, spirals of pleasure exploding throughout his entire being. He feels it in his toes, the soles of his feet, behind his eyes, the tips of his ears – _everywhere_. He’s singing. Everything in him is singing as he finally, _finally_ cums…

 

+

 

A ragged sound leaves Preston as he sits up in bed. He blinks, confused. His whole body is thrumming and he looks down to see he’s torn his pants open. One hand is buried beneath the waistband of his pants, his underwear and…oh…

“Gross,” Preston mutters as he withdraws his spunk soaked hand. He looks around his bedroom. It’s dark and quiet and he realizes quickly it was all a dream. He flops back down on the bed, embarrassment welling up strongly. He had a sex dream. A-a wet dream, right? That’s what it’s called when you…

He flexes his hand and winces at how it feels. Disgusting. He gets to his feet and finds the nearest box of tissues. Preston wipes off his hands and feels a wave of shame wash over him. Revulsion. He had a dream about the Pines twins. He dreamed about the two of them…

_Northwests are not gay._

He can hear his father’s voice as soundly, as clearly, as if the man’s in the room with him.

Which, thankfully, he is not.

Preston picks out some nightwear and heads resolutely to the bathroom, resolved to wash this whole sordid business away from him.

Still, the dream…

Why Ford? Why Stan? Why BOTH of them?

Preston tries to assure himself that he has no idea why, but it’s difficult to convince himself. Far more difficult than it should be. But as he gets to the shower and clicks on the water he shrugs his shoulders. It was just a dream. A dumb, stupid, silly dream that was sparked by his most recent thoughts before he fell into slumber. It has no meaning. After all, it’s not as if he’ll ever be in a position where he spends a lot of time with the Pines twins.

Comforted by this thought, he climbs into the shower and feels the water beat down on him. Feels it and smiles to himself, resolved to let it all just wash away.


End file.
